Trust old Bak to steer you right,I've burned the oil into the nightTo find the scrap of evidenceTo prove what should be obvious That everyone is quite obsessed,In a clinical senseAnd needs to go to detoxIn a computer-free space.The statistics are in,Your brain is burning dim,And hitting that space barIsn't going to take you very far,And posting just one more replyJust isn't going to get you by.The sun is calling,But you don't hear it.Your son wants to play ball,But you won't go near it.Just admit it,You've got to quit it,God forbidYour mother should see you like this.Just look at this place,The beds unmade,There's dust on the tableAnd there isn't a maid,So look that face in the mirror,And don't turn away,It's the face of addictionEvery day.People are politeToo polite to say what they thinkThat your mind's on the blinkIf you were clicking for dollars they'd all approve,But you were just following the spiritual grooveAnd in all that timeYou left but one impressionOn the seatOf your swivel chair.

Somewhere between the gold and the blackI lost you --You fell from my handLike a card from the deck,And you're gone--I can't retrievethe things that we hadI can't reclaimthe hours that have slipped away--There is nothing leftBut an empty horizon and you.

Like the sun coming out fromBehind a cloud--A dream that couldn't be true,You were a vision in sunlight and lace,Never was there another faceLike the oneThat you wore--

But now that you're goneI sit alone and I wonder,Is it the sound of the rainthat I hear? Is it thunder?

Come back again in my dreams if you can,You're welcome if ever you chooseTo join me there,I don't have much companyThese days,I stay in the same old place,And I sit alone and wonder,Is it the sound of the rainthat I hear? Is it thunder?

(Dedicated to my mother, Eloise Carreon and the Choir of the Sacred Heart)

Well the flood came downTook the house awayWouldn’t you knowThat the porch would stayOn that beat up couchWith the cigarette burnsI can just sit hereWhile the world turns

And it’s gonna get worseBefore it gets betterI heard the guv’mnt lady sayBefore she drove awayIn her guv’mnt carShe was a real go-getterBut she never came back this wayI hope the neighbors didn’t catch her

Well eventually they brought some trailers inOf formaldehyde, plastic and tinI moved indoors one summer dayNow they wanna take it all awayI signed all the formsAnd said what can I do?They said maybe you can stayA month or two

But it’s gonna get worseBefore it gets betterMoney doesn’t grow on treesAnd people aren’t honeybeesYeah it always gets worseBefore it gets betterThat’s what they always sayForever and a day

Like Napoleon said at WaterlooWhen the story’s wroteThen you’re throughYou can bitch and moanYou can cry and weepSign a gov’mnt loanGet a repayment sheet

But it always gets worseAnd it rarely gets betterThere’s a bigger force in playI heard that preacher sayBefore they burned his churchAnd the weather got wetterThere’s always hell to payAt least ‘till judgment day‘Cause it’s gonna get worseBefore it gets betterSo I take five shots a dayAnd now you’ll hear me sayIt was worseBut now it's gotten better

If your life is plagued with discord, and you can't get out of bed, If you're hungover with sadness and wish that you were dead, If you've got a forty-five pointed up against your head, Then you might as well become a Buddhist And save a little lead.

Well if you dig the Mahayana You don't have to cut your hair And if you chant a little now You'll have nothing to fear When death comes strolling down the aisle And extends his hand to you, You'll say "my ticket's paid today, So what more can I do?"

The Dharma's just for losers At least that's what the Siddha said When he rolled the final snake eyes With the eyeballs from his head And dakinis started cackling Like buzzards in the sky Then he clicked his heels And grabbed his chick And flew away on high.

It's Tantra, baby, on the hoof Too hot to try to sell, And if you don't believe me We'll discuss it all in hell. The family is twisted, That's known around these parts, The men will steal your car While the women break your heart.

The crossing signs are switched up All around this place, When you play it, it's a Joker, Though you swore you drew an Ace, And the hit men play with apple pies The girls are made of stone And every word that flies about Is sure to break a bone.

The guides have all gone crazy In this place where travel's free, There's nothing more amazing Than to see one in a tree, Laughing like a psycho With his head inside a box You'd swear he'd never heard That little kids get chicken pox.

It's Tantra, baby, grab a bite And hang on to your hat, We'll feed you magic potions And lay you on a mat, We'll dance around you wildly With flowers in our hair And when you wake in our place You are a billionaire.